


Souvenir

by miraworos



Series: A More Perfect World [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Gentlemen's Club, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 09:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos
Summary: Twenty years after their argument over holy water, Crowley goes to the Christmas party at Aziraphale's gentlemen's club to check on the angel. He tries to stay obscured in the shadows, but Aziraphale catches him anyway, and takes him to an out-of-the-way alcove for a private...um...chat.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A More Perfect World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596484
Comments: 56
Kudos: 342
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Gift Exchange, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Souvenir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borrowedphrases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/gifts).



> I...don't even know what to say. This is my first explicit fic. Hell, I haven't even written anything barely beyond gen before, so...erm...yeah. I have _read_ a bunch of smut, but I would not say I'm anything near an expert in writing...well, anything, really. @borrowedphrases , I know it's not exactly what you asked for, but I hope you like it at least a little. And I'm really sorry if it sucks. *sheepish*

_1887 - Portland Place, London_

Crowley should not have been there. Not in that club. Not in London. Not on Christmas Eve. And sure as Hell not in a dark tail coat and a fucking ascot.

Aziraphale would not be best pleased to see him, not after the regrettable holy-water incident at St. James. Sure it had been more than twenty years at this point, but Crowley kept his distance, biding his time until the right opportunity came along to re-enter the angel’s sphere. He always had to be so careful—don’t push too hard, don’t ask too much. Luckily, his role as chief tempter had taught him patience. Not that he was trying to tempt the angel. He knew better than that, at least. But the dance was essentially the same. One step forward, two steps back…

Argument or no, Crowley kept tabs on the angel as he always did, watching from the shadows to make sure the impulsive angel didn’t get himself into a situation he couldn’t get himself out of. Crowley couldn’t trust it to Heaven. They cared about Aziraphale about as much as they did humanity, which is to say, only enough to avoid stepping on them, and more to keep their shoes from getting bloody than to keep from causing harm.

All of which meant that it was up to Crowley to keep Aziraphale safe. Even when they were fighting. Even when they hadn’t interacted in over two decades. Even when Crowley was cut to the quick by his angel’s casual dismissal of their friendship. Even then, Crowley would trade what was left of his own soul to defend the pink-cheeked, curly-haired, soft-hearted bastard that held all the keys to Crowley’s brimstone-blackened heart.

Speaking of the angel, there he was, in the center of the red-and-green festooned room, surrounded by vultures, all of whom lapped at Aziraphale’s angelic presence as if it were ambrosia. Offering him Christmas-themed comestibles, delicacies from far-flung places that only the wealthiest among them could afford. Offering him wine to further loosen his inhibitions so that he might be persuaded to dance, so that then he might be persuaded to other things of which Crowley categorically did not approve.

Crowley sidled along the edge of the room, circling his angel from afar, keeping an eye on him through tinted glasses as he passed behind the shoulders of men who could not seem to tear their gazes away. There was so much desire in the room, so much lust, that Crowley could smell it, and it made him peevish, testy. It would be one thing if Aziraphale intended to incite it. It was another thing entirely if these humans laid a finger on the innocent, oblivious angel without the angel’s consent. Crowley was still trying to ascertain which it was—did Aziraphale want to have a tryst with one of these men? Or was he being baited into it unwittingly?

Personally, the demon did not want any of these men anywhere near Aziraphale, but the angel wasn’t his, and likely never would be, no matter how much he yearned for it, so he had no claim and he knew it. But damned if he’d allow Aziraphale to fall prey to any being—human or otherwise—attempting to take advantage.

One human, tall, bolder than the rest, a ginger of all things, leaned close to the angel’s ear and whispered, his shoulder brushing Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel’s cheeks pinked even more than usual, and Crowley had to restrain himself from flinging bodies aside in an effort to punch the human in his ruggedly handsome jaw.

But staying out of it had clearly been the right call, as the angel did not lean away, did not look uncomfortable, did not seem to miss a beat as he chuckled appreciatively at whatever the tosser had said. The sick feeling in Crowley’s gut intensified, and he cast about for the nearest servant carrying a drink tray. He downed a glass of sherry in one swallow and immediately reached for another before turning back to find the angel…missing. The angel was missing. How in the world—?

“Crowley?”

Crowley nearly dropped his glass at hearing his name spoken by Aziraphale’s voice.

 _Shit. Shit shit shit_.

It wasn’t time yet. This wasn’t the right moment.

“Crowley, what are you doing here?”

Crowley sighed and turned to face the angel.

“I could ask the same of you,” Crowley answered, though it was a weak avoidance at best.

“I belong to this club,” Aziraphale said, straightening still further than even his usual ramrod posture. “And you, almost certainly, do not. I checked.”

“I always love a good party,” Crowley tried again, downing his second glass of sherry, and placing the empty glass into the pot of a conveniently placed plant.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his tone turning serious. “Is it the arrangement? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, waving it off. “Nothing’s wrong, I just. I’m just...” Every justifiable excuse chose that exact moment to fly out of Crowley’s head.

“If this is about the—the _you know what_ ,” Aziraphale said, his expression hardening. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“No,” Crowley said, a little too forcefully perhaps. He didn’t want the angel thinking about their argument. It would set them back another twenty years if they revisited it again, and Crowley was tired of waiting, tired of holding himself back from the one person he actually cared about in this trash heap of an existence.

“Good,” Aziraphale said, his features softening back into curiosity. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m here to see you, angel,” Crowley said, resigned to the truth. “To check on you.”

“Really?” A coy smile curled onto the angel’s face. A different smile from the one he’d regarded his suitors with.

“Ezra!” The ginger said, appearing at the far edge of the crowd with two glasses of what looked like eggnog in hand. “Ezra, where have you got off to?”

“Ezra?” Crowley asked the angel, arching an eyebrow at him.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Aziraphale is such an antiquated name. I didn’t want to stand out. Besides, Aziraphale Fell just sounds…odd.”

“That it does. Shall I release you to your…friend?” he asked, testing the waters.

Aziraphale regarded the ginger bloke pushing through the sea of black coats toward them with a thoughtful frown.

“You know, I was only flirting with him, because I wanted your attention,” he said, turning back to Crowley and snapping his fingers.

The ginger-haired suitor looked suddenly as confused and wrong-footed as Crowley felt.

“You-you what?”

“You heard me,” the angel said, a challenge in his eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me for twenty years.”

“I—I… You…You ran off. I was giving you time.”

“It was too much time, Crowley.”

“But I—I…”

“I’ve learned a thing or two while you were pouting.”

“Hang on, I wasn’t pouting.”

“You were pouting. And it was adorable—for five years. Every year after was too much.”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Crowley said, both cross and feeling faint at the same time. Adorable? He thought…adorable? “You could just as easily have reached out to me.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s always so, angel,” Crowley said, his tone more fervant than he’d meant it to be.

Aziraphale stared right through Crowley’s eyes and into his soul for a long, agonizing moment. It was something the angel did from time to time, and it never failed to unsettle Crowley completely. Particularly since the whole point of the dark glasses was specifically to prevent such scrutiny.

Aziraphale’s hand circled Crowley’s wrist, tightening almost painfully.

“Come with me,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Wordlessly, Crowley complied. He would follow the angel anywhere, and Aziraphale, no doubt, knew this. Crowley had given it all away, and knowing the reckless, hedonistic angel, it would eventually get him discorporated, or worse, kicked out of Heaven entirely. Crowley felt no small measure of shame at his failure to protect the angel from his own selfish desires. He should try harder. He should put a stop to this before it went too far. He should—

But before he could put any of those shoulds into practice, Aziraphale had taken him to a deserted alcove just off an adjoining hall. It was dark and partially obscured by a curtain. There was a classical statue of two winged angels locked in some sort of epic battle with each other perched atop a display pillar.

At first, Crowley assumed Aziraphale wanted to show him the statue, but then he realized what the angel was really intending.

“Angel, no. This is a terrible—”

Aziraphale manhandled him into the alcove behind the curtain, slamming him against the wall and knocking the breath out of him.

“Are you saying you don’t want this?” Aziraphale asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“No, of course not. I’ve wanted this for thousands of—”

Aziraphale bridged what little gap was left between them, pressing a desperate kiss to Crowley’s lips and causing Crowley’s entire brain to suddenly malfunction.

Crowley groaned into the kiss, as the pleading voice at the back of his mind, hammering at him to stop, stop _now_ , before Heaven and Hell and God Herself found out, diminished into almost nothing while the angel’s hot mouth devoured his.

Aziraphale finally let up his relentless attack on Crowley’s lips to press hot kisses down the column of his throat to where it finally met interference at the bloody ascot.

“Wait, angel. We have to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” Aziraphale said as he pulled at Crowley’s tie with expert fingers. “That I want you? That I have wanted you since…since Hamlet? Since Rome? Since before I even knew what it was I was wanting?”

Crowley groaned again, noticing all at once the hot friction of Aziraphale’s leg grinding up against him while he fiddled with Crowley’s shirt stud. Not for the first time, Crowley missed the simpler era of loose linen robes.

“Angel…” Crowley panted, trying to locate the centers of logic and reason in his lust-clouded brain. “We have to be careful…”

“I know, dear. I know. But I…I _need_ you. I thought…you needed me, too?”

Crowley closed his eyes, willing himself to pull away, to say the hurtful thing, to put this off for another millennium at least. To keep them both safe. But he couldn’t make himself do it. It was too soon after the holy-water argument. He couldn’t shove the angel away, not this time. He was far too far gone, and if the angel wanted this as well… He just… He couldn’t.

Decision finally made, Crowley reversed his mindset entirely. Rather than push away, he _pulled_. He ignored Aziraphale’s coat and shirt. They’d need to be able to recover from this quickly, and pinning shirts back into place took too much time. Instead, he made quick work of Aziraphale’s trouser fastenings.

Aziraphale moaned into Crowley’s ear as Crowley brushed past the woolen fabric to touch the angel’s hardened cock.

“Do you want me to…” Crowley whispered past the catch of awe in his throat. “Do you want me—?”

“Yes, yes—God, yes! Must you even ask?” Aziraphale said, sounding equally as wrecked as Crowley felt.

And with no further encouragement, Crowley sank down the wall to his knees, pulling Aziraphale’s cock free of his trousers and wrapping his mouth around it. He clutched at Aziraphale’s hips as the angel canted them forward, panting and swearing angelic curses, _bless it_ and _glorious_ and _please more please_.

Without relinquishing the angel’s cock, Crowley pushed Aziraphale’s hips, angling his back to the adjoining wall of the alcove so that Crowley had better leverage. Then he pinned Aziraphale’s hips to the wainscoting as he worked his tongue up and down the angel’s still thickening shaft. On a whim, he pulled one hand way from Aziraphale’s hips to caress his testicles. Aziraphale gasped, shuddering at the sensation and plunging his fingers into Crowley’s long hair.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aziraphale breathed. And the sound of _that word_ on the angel’s lips made Crowley’s own cock impossibly harder. So hard it _ached_. He reached down and undid the fastenings on his own trousers, palming his cock to calm it down.

Crowley pushed his mouth further up Aziraphale’s shaft, greedily swallowing the dribbles of salty pre-cum, anticipating his angel’s orgasm even as the head of his cock bumped the back of Crowley’s throat.

“Crowley,” the angel whispered. “Stop—s-stop. I’m close and I… I want… I want…”

Regretfully, Crowley pulled back, releasing Aziraphale’s cock with a final swirl of tongue around the head.

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley said, his voice husky from sex and longing.

Aziraphale hauled Crowley up to standing and pushed him back against his own alcove-wall again. And before any other words were spoken, Aziraphale’s mouth was back on Crowley’s swollen lips, tasting himself on Crowley’s tongue.

“Mmph,” Crowley said, surprised and aroused all over again. When Aziraphale broke the kiss, leaning his head against Crowley’s neck, Crowley offered himself up. A benediction. A willing sacrifice.

“What do you want, angel? You can have anything…anything.” Crowley was babbling now, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about Heaven or Hell or any of it. He wanted whatever the angel wanted, and he wanted it _right goddamn now_.

“I want you,” Aziraphale huffed, breathing hard. “I want to be inside you. I want to claim you completely. I want you to be mine. Forever.”

Crowley couldn’t help himself. Even as he shivered at the naked want in the angel’s tone, he chuckled.

“Is that all?” he said, flippantly but also with infinite fondness.

“If you don’t… If you don’t want that—me—tell me now,” the angel said, both a plea and a warning.

“I do,” Crowley said, instantly serious again, wrapping a leg and both arms around his angel, pulling him closer. “I do want that. I do want you. Entirely. Inside me. Outside of me. However you want me. Always.”

Without another word, Aziraphale snapped with one hand as he pushed Crowley’s trousers to the floor with the other. Then those same, now-slicked fingers slid through Crowley’s entrance, twisting and stretching his opening, brushing against the sensitive organ that crashed his brain and caused him to sink down the wall again. If Aziraphale weren’t literally holding him up, bracing his weight against the wall while he fondled his opening, Crowley would currently be a puddle on the floor. Well…a puddle with a raging hard-on.

“Angel,” Crowley whined, trying desperately to stay quiet while wanting equally as desperately to shout. “Angel…”

“It’s all right, my dearest,” Aziraphale said, adding a third finger to the first two as Crowley hissed at the swell. “Make as much noise as you need to. This is a _discreet_ gentleman’s club, after all.”

Crowley cursed then, louder than before, though he still tried to keep the volume down. “I want you, angel. _Please_. I need you inside me. I need you to—” He stopped to pant as Aziraphale thrust his fingers in further. “I need you to fuck me. _Now_.”

Aziraphale’s expression turned fiercely possessive. “Crowley, my dear, my dearest, my only…” He pulled his fingers out one by one, causing Crowley to hiss again in impatience.

“Angel,” he chastised. “I _need_ you—”

“As you wish,” Aziraphale hummed against his ear. Then he lifted Crowley’s hips up, wrapping Crowley’s legs around his own hips and pressing the tip of his shaft to Crowley’s entrance. Swearing again, Crowley whipped out his wings to help brace his upper body against the wall, his foot bumping painfully into the statue as he shifted to steady himself.

And then finally, _finally_ , Crowley felt Aziraphale push _in_. Not all the way, but far enough to cause riotous sensation to ripple throughout Crowley’s entire body. His head snapped back, thunking against the wall, but it was nothing compared to the waves of pleasure coursing through him.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he said, scrabbling to hold onto Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“All right, my dear?” Aziraphale gasped through his own reaction to the penetration.

“Oh, _fuck_ , angel, it’s amazing—you’re amazing.”

Aziraphale moaned again, pushing in an inch further. “Tell me when…” he trailed off, gasping.

“When! When, damn you!”

And without further goading, Aziraphale pushed in up to the hilt.

Crowley gasped and swore in every language he’d ever learned, which was quite a lot, after six thousand years. The angel stilled, trembling and panting, waiting for Crowley to adjust to the stretch, to the intrusion.

“Angel, angel, please,” Crowley whined again after a moment, moving his hips as much as he dared.

Aziraphale nodded, rocking his own hips backward, pulling out just enough, then thrusting in, pushing all the air out of Crowley’s lungs in the process. Aziraphale slowly built a rhythm between them that blocked out all other thought in Crowley’s mind beyond _yes_ and _more_ , over and over. Crowley may even have said the words aloud, he had no way of knowing.

“Touch me,” he gasped, at last, close to blacking out entirely and wanting to feel his angel’s hands on his cock just once before he succumbed.

Aziraphale obliged, wrapping one arm around Crowley’s narrow waist to support him while he curled his other hand around Crowley’s shaft. And if Crowley’d thought he’d felt sensation before, it was nothing compared to the combined stimulation of the angel inside him and surrounding him and supporting him and holding him close. The mere understanding of which sent Crowley immediately tumbling over the edge into oblivion, coming with only a few pumps from Aziraphale’s expert grasp.

As Crowley climaxed, supernovas exploded behind his eyelids, coarse joy erupted from his throat, and all his organs and sinews clenched tight to keep his core intact as the rest of him shook all the way apart.

And in that moment, across a seemingly vast distance, he heard Aziraphale gasp at the sudden pressure around his own still thrusting cock.

 _One thrust_. Crowley, still tight with his own orgasm, forced his eyes open to drink in his beloved, for beloved he was. _Two thrusts_. Crowley relaxed into the wall, boneless, memorizing every gorgeous line creasing Aziraphale’s face. _Three thrusts_. Aziraphale came himself with a sharp exhale and a gush of pure radiant warmth inside Crowley that reached all the way to his heart. Crowley stroked his lover’s cheek, sliding a leg down to support himself, even as Aziraphale clutched him close, still fully absorbed in his own crest of ecstasy.

Together, they sank to the floor, Aziraphale huddled, still mostly clothed, in Crowley’s arms. Crowley, for his part, wrapped his legs and his wings around his angel—his glorious, too-good-for-any-world angel. He didn’t care who heard, who saw, who disapproved. Not in this moment. This moment was _his_. Just as this angel was _his angel_. In a moment, he would have to let go. He would have to disappear. But this moment, this one, was his.

“Crowley, that was…” Aziraphale breathed after a moment of shuddering, silent bliss. “That was…”

“Mind-blowing? Awe-inspiring?” _Life-altering_ , he didn’t say but wanted to.

“Perfection,” Aziraphale supplied with a happy sigh, smiling beatifically, angelically.

Crowley laid a gentle kiss on his angel’s forehead. “I’ll take ‘perfection.’”

Much later—though, in truth, it couldn’t have been more than a handful of minutes—Crowley shifted, sending his wings back to where he usually kept them.

“We should be going, angel,” he said softly to a still dreamy Aziraphale.

“Oh?” Aziraphale said. “Want to come back to mine for a night-cap?”

Crowley smiled down at his angel, trying to replace with fondness as much of the regret as he could manage.

“I would love to,” he said, and that part wasn’t a lie.

As he stood up, helping the angel to his feet as well, he tugged the angel close for one more crushing kiss. Then he let go.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, putting every ounce of the truth in it, holding nothing back.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, his expression melting into a radiant, reciprocal love. “I love you, too, my dear. So very much.”

With a deep breath and an aching heart, Crowley took a step back and snapped his fingers, willing three things to happen all at once: first, for his and the angel’s clothes to right themselves as if nothing untoward had happened, second, for himself to be relocated to his flat and the angel to his bookshop, and third, for the angel to have forgotten the assignation had ever occurred, that he’d ever seen Crowley at the club in the first place, that Crowley had ever uttered the words _I love you_. Because it was still too dangerous. And if anything ever happened to Aziraphale, anything at all, Crowley knew he’d never survive it. So, best for the angel to forget and move on. It was the only way.

Crowley never set foot in the gentleman’s club again, except for one time, the day after the Christmas party. He snapped himself into the alcove, avoiding door and pesky human interference. He circled the pedestal once, eyeing the statue resting upon it. Then he snapped himself out of the club instantly, statue with him. Because even though the angel would never remember, Crowley would never forget.


End file.
